


quid pro quo

by Ezfa



Category: Hellsing, Hellsing Ultimate
Genre: AU, F/M, PWP, Rejuvenated Walter Dornez, Schrodinger never did that thing, Walter actually was captured and brainwashed, among other things, but those are mentioned in the fic itself, dark!Walter, kind of, so Alucard is alive and well, so basically everything is a-okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-11 23:56:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17456711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ezfa/pseuds/Ezfa
Summary: It takes them one night to figure it out.( In which having a newly rejuvenated and redeemed Walter around the Hellsing manor unexpectedly brings some problems. )





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly? No excuse; I just really, (and I mean really) wanted smut without having an active plot or story. And then I remembered there exists such a genre; so here I am! Why do I name my SerasxWalter fics in foreign languages? I don’t know; it just seems more romantic and mysterious to me, or something /shrug. Regardless, I hope you enjoy; this would be my official first time writing real smut (yay!). So apologies if it seems to be written rather strangely.
> 
> This did have to be cut in half since it was getting ridiculously long; I’ll post it sometime later this week. Next chapter will be naughty! :)

******quid pro quo  
** **(I)**

 **IT TOOK INTEGRA** merely a week to pick Hellsing up from the remnants it left in its' destruction, to truly build it up again, and it took her a full three months to have it mostly standing in its' former glory. There was still much work to be done, possibly years worth rebuilding; her men, her physical manor. Nothing would ever the same; and during such times, she'd almost succumbed to grief. Not just from the almost-loss of her faithful and loyal servant, but from the circumstances surrounding her. She was only human after all; one woman, and a mortal one, at that, despite the offers that have been given to her.

Seras Victoria could only do so much for her, as she was.

Alucard always came first and foremost. He'd almost been gone to them, forever; at least, that's the kind of impression The Major had given to Sir Integra, at the time. It'd only lasted for such a fleeting moment, that frightening sensation, the heavy grief that came with her master nearly disappearing like that all over again; but within that moment, all the two ladies had were each other. Much to their relief, he never did.

And, thankfully, Walter didn't either.

Seras shudders, even now, to think what would have happened had the fat pig of a man not divulged that last-minute detail; what Walter had sarcastically delivered to her in hopes of crushing her hope had actually rang fine and true. He was no traitor, not in the way he'd presented, and that was enough for Seras. At the time, she'd thought it was the end of the squabble; Alucard had, surprisingly, enough sense through his power hungry rampancy to spare the former Hellsing's butler's life just before truly finishing him off. Though, he seemed almost disappointed to do so; but it was under Sir Integra's order and she's sure, under that pretentious, egotistical, blood-thirsty facade he wrapped himself in, there was relief too. Relief that, at least once in a long while, he hadn't made an enemy from some petty grudge or self-imposed rivalry; relief that he didn't have to lose another friend.

Yet, they weren't so easily convinced.

And she was no fool; young and soft-hearted she may be, but she wasn't stupid. It was enough for Seras to feel relief, but it wasn't enough to convince her; not for any of them. And Walter? He blamed none of them; he'd even offered himself, on his knees no less, his  _head_ to Sir Integra; even if his actions were a direct result of Nazi brainwashing and forced surgery, what he did was utterly inexcusable. Integra agreed to such a fact, but she didn't take any type of blood or death as payment for such damage, much to Alucard's slight dismay at the lost chance to do such a thing. The trust was cracked, but the care wasn't; he would remain to Hellsing, but this time by a chain rather than by choice. Walter had qualms, but the look in Intergra's eyes was more than enough confirmation that would be all in the matter. He only smiled in gratitude, which she returned in kind.

The chip had been a finicky contraption to deal with; it had been embedded at the base of his neck. Whether that was the case for all of Millenium's vampires remained to be confirmed, but Seras could only imagine it was a special case for him; after all, why  _not_ give special treatment to their personalized, and forced, element of surprise? What better way to screw Hellsing over with their very own faithful and loyal butler? But that'd been beside the point; not only was the chip a delicate thing to remove, and delicate, but it was unstable. The question remained whether he needed it to survive. When they undid the forceful surgery, it was found that he didn't, much to everyone's relief. The chip only served to control his mind, which mostly was the cerebral cortex and the left hemisphere of his brain, in more simple terms; everything else depended on the chip to give him ten times more ample strength, speed and agility than that of a human. And once that was fully removed, everyone expected him to revert to his true age. Except he didn't; he reverted to the one that was presented upon them at his betrayal.

Who knows how much they experimented on him; how complicated the process was and what the effects were. Miraculously, despite the chip being removed, it seemed the longevity of his life and enhanced abilities weren't affected so; he could still move about and had his youthful spirit back, it didn't consume him anymore. Walter still coughed out blood occasionally, and he was ordered to rest more, and to take specially-made medicine in the form of pills that helped his body deal with the exertion, a crutch as it were. A near seventy five-year old man didn't just revert to the body of a mid-twenty year old without physical strain. Such a shame that such genius mind, The Doctor's, was put to such disgusting waste. He'd been on to something near immortal, and it was wasted on Nazism.

Much to Walter's dismay, because of his new, current condition, he'd been demoted; well surely not  _just_ because of his condition, but still. Not even  _a_ butler.  _Gardener._ Not even the head Gardener; just the one that tended to the weeds. He  _hated_ weeds; he even refused the duty when he was  _fourteen._ To do so at this age was  _humiliating._ At the news, it took everything in him not to groan; he'd forgotten that, at this ripened age, his features weren't weighed down by too much wisdom or emotions. His brows would twitch, a lip would quirk, and his eyes would flicker all too easily; subtle actions that revealed his form of thinking, and served as amusement for both Integra and Alucard. Integra had him on strict orders to, in her phrasing, recede immediately should he feel dizzy or start coughing up blood again, take his medicine and lay for rest. He didn't have the body of an old man anymore, but he was being treated like one; even  _more_ so than when he actually  _was_ the physical age.

And it wasn't just Alucard or Integra that noticed the visible change; most of Hellsing's staff, soldiers, recruits and servants alike had all been replaced after the carnage. There were plenty of fresh, new faces, ones that didn't live through the years with Hellsing; the only ones who did, beside Alucard, Integra, Walter and even Seras herself, dwindled in numbers. They all noticed a rather new, handsome, tall and young gardener; they spoke in hushed whispers and word got around plenty fast.

 _That's Walter C. Dornez? The ancient butler that betrayed Hellsing? The one with the wires?_ _I thought he was supposed to be… well, ancient?_

 _Oh my_ _, if_ _**that's** _ _what his betrayal wreaked on his body, I think it was well worth it, don't you think?_

 _Is it_ _**wrong** _ _that I fancy him? Only a little? He's the age of my grandfather, but he's well physically younger; I don't think I mind._

 _Certainly not! He's up for grabs, I think, though_ _slightly_ _inappropriate,_ _if anything._

_Is he single?_

_Does it really matter if he is? Or isn't?_

Walter, though marginally flattered, opted to try and evade such comments when possible. He pretended not to hear of them, to which Alucard  _kindly_ reminded him that, indeed, he was Hellsing's very own appointed eligible bachelor. The blood had rushed to his face faster than he ever remembered his heart working at this age. Despite his efforts, even when not trying to, he found that he charmed many; his words reflected his true age, and apparently, combined with his youthful looks, seemed to have a positive effect on the young maids. They blushed and giggled like… well, young women tended to do; it made him feel rather awkward and overwhelmed. He was literally being himself; an old and rather outdated John Bull. It was… an  _experience_ to have his young body again; a nice one, for sure, but strange and almost alien. He hadn't been this age well in… well,  _decades._ He almost felt like a stranger in possession of another's body; it wasn't until he looked through his own photographs that he confirmed to himself that, indeed, this was his body alright.

And Seras, of course she noticed all of this; she was becoming more and more like her former master, at times, blending with the shadows and observing rather than participating. Arguably, she noticed most of all, beside Walter himself. Though she was happy and relieved to have him alive and well, to have her initial suspicions confirmed, something… didn't sat well with her. It was an instinctual pull, almost; a festering thing that shifted as much as her shadowy arm. She'd received him as well as anyone else in the manor did, in the beginning of this venture; with open arms and even crimson tears in her eyes and she would make sure to always greet him in kind, always beaming or waving. Sometimes, she would even approach him for weapon help, whenever her anti-talk rifle would present her with complications. He was still the same Walter she's come to known.

And yet, something was off.

Soon, slowly and surely, she would begin to feel… rather odd;  _he_ was being odd around her. Within two months, her greetings would become less exciting, less enthusiastic when  _his_ would seem so; it was almost like he was trying to avoid her. She was still kind, still very  _her_  in gesture and personality; but something shifted within her,  _between them,_ and she still couldn't place why. Seeing him now was strange; as if the novelty of a rejuvenated Walter was starting to wear off, and other things were coming to light… things that she hadn't considered up until now.

So she began following him, hoping to find within him a defect or oddity she could place for why he's been acting strange around her. And whether or not it was because of his seemingly unfamiliarity with his youth and body, Walter never caught on to her mischievous habit, and that encouraged her to continue. It wasn't just observing him in the garden; she would challenge herself, see how far she could actually go without being caught. It was starting, she acknowledged to herself, to get a little strange. She's gotten as far as his bedroom; she made it a point to herself, and rather firmly, that was  _not_ a territory she would touch. She didn't like that she was being so creepy, and yet, curiosity got the better of her. Often, she finds herself wondering if there rang some truth of his supposed betrayal; it tugged at her chest and mind. Did her perhaps feel like he had to prove something against Alucard? Sure, she could ask him; but she got the feeling that he wouldn't answer honestly. She's run into him in the hallway twice after her realization to his estranged behavior, unintentionally and in those two times, he's given her an odd look along with a tilt of his head, wordlessly asking if she were alright  _and_ what she'd been doing in such adjacent hallways, for only mostly servant-staff came to that particular side of the manor. And both times, she stumbled over her words, apparently unable to conjure up a proper response just by the look of his face alone, before excusing herself rather hastily. Seeing him so up close made her feel strange, combined with the fact he'd also seemed like he was avoiding eye contact, made her even more uncomfortable.

And so, one sunny afternoon, Seras finds herself looking at him through the window on the top floor.  _Like a true stalker indeed, eh?_ He's hard at work, focused on his task; thanks to her vision, she can just see how he's working up a sweat. He looks peculiar with a hat and an apron; like a house-husband. She chuckles; she's never seen Walter sport such things. Then again, she's never seen Walter this young; at least, not actively trying to harm or maim them. It's an odd thing to see; his expression is anything but serene. He's frowning, like he's trying really hard not to lose it; it's not secret that gardening was never something he had patience for. And, after all, he told her once, when they walked through the very garden; he'd been reminiscing to her about his past, and the fact just came out. She'd laughed with him about it, they both had. They'd always share small moments like that, before his betrayal. She'd help him out sometimes, with the cleaning or the cooking.

_And now I can't even stand near the man without going blank._

A voice cuts through her reminiscing, "I think you rather fancy him." She sputters, more so at the scandalous claim and being  _caught_ rather than the voice; the french timbre is unmistakable, the source coming out of her limb.  _Pip._ She scoffs after gathering herself and readjusting her position,  _away_ from the window. "Oh,  _mon cher,_ there's no need to deny it; it's clear as day. Though, I won't say I'm not slightly jealous. Yet, to know you're not above watching a man's  _derriere_ at work is rather unexpected, but not boring in the slightest…"

She almost chokes on her saliva. "I—  _I wasn't!"_ her pitch is just a tad too high to be the absolute truth; she clears her throat, "I mean— No, that's  _exactly_ what I mean, and I  _swear,_ I wasn't! That's not even…  _close_ to what—" is she really having this conversation right now? With her bloody arm? "It's  _not_ like that!"

" _Cheri,_ you forget to whom you address; I'm  _inside_ your subconscious. I can literally tell when you're trying to lie; this would be one of those times." Her mouth dries, but she continues to remain adamant at his accusations; she can literally feel the smirk right through her chest and stomach. A feeling she finds rather odd.

"Yeah, well… — _well,_ I thought that traditionally, proper  _f_ amiliars were to remain until  _summoned."_ And part of her feels rather guilty; after what Pip and her shared,  _the kiss,_ though it translated more as a cheeky  _goodbye_ rather than a confession, still weighs heavily on her. It had only been a few months! But Pip doesn't seem to share her reasoning; it's almost like he's  _encouraging_ this, giving her the proverbial thumbs up. That doesn't really make things any better for her.

She gets the impression that he shrugs, "Yeah,  _well,_ you're not exactly a traditional vampire, are you? I don't exactly abide by the rules if my lovely host  _doesn't._ "  _Damn him._ "I heard that."

"I am  _not_ talking about this—  _this— non-existent scandal_ you're trying to pine onto me! It's not what you think!" Okay,  _fine,_ she's young and she has  _eyes_ ; she can appreciate a bloody good view. She's virgin, not a bloody nun!  _But—_ but that doesn't mean she's… not...  _pining_ _. Argh!_ _Alright, s_ _o_ _ **what**_  if Walter is… is… She blinks, more surprised at herself than she's willing to admit. "B-buh...b-bu—"

Pip  _laughs;_ he has the audacity to bloody  _laugh!_ And not at all unlike the first time they met. "You… you are just… too adorable,  _mon cher_. _"_

Seras grits her teeth, continuing her spiel, " _But!_ That's not what I'm concerned about, alright?"

"You're right, but you're certainly not complaining on the view. To be honest? I wouldn't either."

"I  _just_! Need to know, alright?" At that, Pip remains silent, contemplating; he knows her, inside and out now. Her words are only the truth, and he knows of the feelings that have taken been ebbing at her soul. He lets her admit it to herself, "… it's been bothering me. Surely you know that. No doubt you've  _felt_ it too, in there, or rather, in here..." she taps her head solemnly. He doesn't disagree and he tells her so. Seras lets out a tired sigh, "I don't know… I just… feel… Could I have done more? I  _called_ it, you know?  _Literally_ right in the moment! Couldn't I have just…?"

"Is that's what's really bothering you?"

" _Yes..._ " It's subtly hinted that he doesn't believe her. She doesn't care what he wants or doesn't want to believe; she knows her truth.

"Oh Seras, you have… such a heart; you grieve what isn't even your fault. You have too much love, too much care to give to others, even when it has nothing to do with you in the first place. One of the many reasons you had me wrapped around your finger when I was alive." Despite the phantom-feeling of a blush, she doesn't know how to take that, and she asks him about it. "What I mean is; if the knowledge of the situation doesn't elude me, you're saying you feel… guilty, is it? For not being able to do more? Seeing him like this, young; it reminds you of when he announced his betrayal, doesn't it?"

Licking her lips in slight impatience, she murmurs, "The point, Pip; the  _bloody_ point."

"I'm getting there, blasted draculina.  _Why_  do you feel guilty, of all things? You know this has nothing to do with you; no part of this ever did. Even if he perhaps  _did_ share contempt for that master of yours, why are you taking it so personally?"

The dry sensation of her throat is a hard one to ignore as she tries to get her voice in order. "I… I'm  _not_." She can feel his brow raising; or rather, sees it in her mind. "I'm bloody  _not_! It's just… I don't… I don't  _know,_ alright? I didn't feel like this before; not in the beginning, anyway. But I remember what he said to me at the time; Pip, he practically  _cried_ out for help when he admitted that, to  _me_  no less. Not Alucard and not Sir Integra,  _me!_  And all I said to him was a bloody  _'thanks and take care, even though I totally know_ _M_ _aster is about to fuck you over bloody well'!_ I could have… couldn't I have picked up what he was trying to say? Wasn't it obvious?" Is she making any sense? Perhaps she's just complaining and feeling this way because she has way too much time on her hands.

"If your boss and the damn fucking Count didn't catch on just before it was too late, what makes you think you could have?" That  _shouldn't_ sting; she knows he's saying that to dissuade her convoluted form of thinking, but… it hurts. Is she really so incompetent? " _Mon cher,_ you're over-analyzing this; it's cute, truly, but don't wear yourself out over it. There was only so much you could do; there's only so much anyone  _can_ do in such situations."

"He's been… avoiding me lately."

"...oh?" he sounds intrigued and unsure. "I don't know about that; how would you even come to a conclusion? All you do is follow the man around like a duckling; perhaps he doesn't talk to you because you literally won't approach him any other way," he considers his words, and adds a little more quietly, "Are you sure that maybe he  _knows_ you're shadowing him and is just too unsettled by it? I mean, you're very easy on the eyes and… actually, nevermind, I wouldn't be complaining."

She closes herself up, physically, drawing in her legs and all but burying her chin into her knees and groans. "I've only ran into him twice; in those two times, I ran away like a frightened kitty, but he seemed like… like he… didn't really want to talk to me? Kind of?" she pauses, thinking over the two incidents; after all, there was a reason she was more inclined to following him than approaching him outright. Come to think of it, even the times when she'd actively sought him out, greeting him and approaching for help, Walter seemed… not at all there. Like he couldn't wait to leave. A coldness washes over her, and the words are out before she can process them.

"Does Walter… resent me?"

"Now you're just being nonsensical; look now,  _fille,_ even if you  _could_ have done more  _—emphasis on could, alright?—_ why are you speaking as if though he was your personal responsibility? He's not even your butler; he's the butler of your Master's  _boss_. I don't know how further you can get away from that!" He has a point, and the more he speaks about it, the more she realizes the truth seeping through the core of the matter; she's always known, always kept it in a compartment stacked away  _far_ in her brain, even until now. Seras doesn't tell Pip the times she's spent with Walter as he was  _before_ the Millenium incident happened; she doesn't tell him of the times she helped with menial chores, how they would engage in small friendly chat in between all the missions, or how she'd sometimes be lucky enough to have him reminisce on his past life as an active part of the war. She doesn't tell him because it is only now it's starting to materialize in her brain that maybe…  _just maybe_  somewhere along the blurred lines, she actually… she was starting to—

Only she doesn't get to finish that train of thought before it truly manifests and  _thank the bloody Queen for that_ because if were to  _think_ anymore, Pip would surely—

A new presence from the depths of the shadows in the room manifest into a tall figure next to her. Though she's grown tremendously from the vampire fledgling she used to be, even she can't help but flinch at the intrusion.

"Police Girl," sinister smile in place and everything; she can only imagine how long he's been standing here, listening to every bit of the conversation. She's quite thankful he can't read her mind anymore, but based on  _that face,_ she imagines that he probably doesn't even need to.  _Here it comes…_  she expects a laugh or a chuckle, or a jibe at her predicament or her words; it never comes. "Our dearest Master has summoned you at once..."

_...eh? Me?_

Alucard looks for all the world like he's trying not to laugh outright; not an unusual expression in the slightest, but one that confirms her immediate fears.  _Yep, he heard everything alright; he won't let me live it down._ However, if he won't make mention of it, then she won't either. "E-err, for what exactly? New mission?"  _Please be a new a mission; maybe I'll_ _get to blow something up…_

As expected, she gets no answer from her former Sire. He's already at the door, waiting for her almost impatiently. Her fingers twitch at his smile; like he knows that she's uneasy. "Oh, don't worry; she only needs  _one_ thing. Once you're done, you can come back; I'm sure the…  _flowers_  won't be getting far." Seras gulps, her face blanching.

It doesn't help that Pip's laugh reverberates through her head.  _Oh bloody shut up,_ _wanker._ That just makes him laugh harder.

As they make their way through the halls, her eyes wander away, and she momentarily forgets herself, as her field of vision lands on a distinct blue and white blur; her vampire vision had it's perks. Walter looks no less frustrated as he wipes the sweat off his forehead. He seems to get tired faster these days and her heart trembles at the thought; that  _should_ be getting better, not  _worse_ —

Like a butcher's knife, Alucard's voice cuts through the air and into her reverie, "Stay alert, Police Girl; you've been getting very lax lately," she gets the very distinct impression, not unlike a breeze, that he's smirking; it'd be typical of him and—  _w_ _ait, what?_ _Where the bloody hell did_ _ **that**_ _come from?_ She pouts, burning holes in Alucard's crimson garments; if he feels the burn of her gaze, which he probably does, he makes no mention of it. She thought he'd been over the whole nickname bit.  _He's so… mean!_ Come to think on it, he hadn't treated her any differently since her transformation; she thought she would at least earn to be called by her name. "If I didn't know any better,"  _bull to the fucking_ _ **shit**_ _,_ "I'd say you've been distracted; we don't want that, do we?"

She doesn't want to dignify that with a response, not wanting to give the satisfaction.  _He seems satisfied enough, bloody bastard._ "What does Sir Integra wish of me? Mission? Training new recruits? Oh! A  _spying_ mission! Is it intel!? I've never done one of those before..."

"You talk too much. She'll tell you when we get there; otherwise she wouldn't have called for you in the first place," he pauses, "And,  _actually,_ she's been calling for you through the intercom system; took her a double take to make sure you were still within the parameters. To think, you ended up in the very room that has no intercom system; peculiar choice to play  _I spy."_

Oh  _bloody—_ "Not you too! Please Master, don't give me a hard time about it, alright? I was just coming to terms with it myself and I just— I mean, I am still very well bloody nineteen, I shouldn't be  _shamed_ for looking at  _men,_ especially not  _healthy-looking men_  and I w-won't feel  _cornered_ and—" She clamps hands over her mouth, trying not to reveal more than what she's already divulged to her familiar, or herself for that matter; the phantom-feeling of having blood heat her face is all inevitable.

It's even more so when she hears Alucard  _chuckle._ "Why Seras, aren't you throwing a fine passion? I don't think I even mentioned anything about  _men_ ; I was simply referring to those bluebell flowers you kept watching _so very_  intensely."  _Liar liar fucking bloody_ _ **liar**_ _! Eurgh! When will the humiliation_ _ **cease**_ _!_ She knows very well that  _he_ knows that those blasted bluebells were the very ones that  _Walter_ was—

Seras tries to make so much as another  _sound_ until they arrive to Sir Integra's office. Alucard doesn't seem to notice, or rather, care. Her will doesn't last too long; "Why are we taking the long way through the halls?" she asks, fidgeting, desperately wanting to talk about anything else.

"Don't be impatient," that's a surprise, coming from him of all people. "Sometimes it's so easy to forget how many… welcoming sights are in this manor. It's important to be familiar with the interior anyway. Though, I would say you're very familiar, aren't you? Despite your short amount of time here." Her eyebrow twitches, and she almost interrupts — _with what, she doesn't know,_ until: "Speaking of Walter,"  _ **W**_ _ **hat?!**_ _"_ I must say, he's adapting quite well, don't you agree?" This time, he does turn slightly to her, as if genuinely regarding her answer, his smirk all too present.

Seras has never wanted to sink in a hole beneath ground so much as she does now. "I—" she concedes with a gulp, "I… I suppose so. He's doing great; seems like he's adjusting well, despite everything."  _Though I'm not sure about that constant fatigue of his..._

Her answer seems to satisfy him. "Indeed; he's expressed his concerns… with being here, I mean. He's still getting used to the idea of being accepted here, even after everything's happened. I suppose once loyal, always loyal. Although, I'm surprised though you'd come to such a conclusion."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"You hardly talk to him."

Her chest feel like it's vibrating; why does she always feel like she's on trial with Alucard? Or everyone else for that matter… "I  _have_..." she shrugs, "Not that you really need to do so to get that out of him. I… I mean," what is she even trying to say anymore? She gulps again, her throat feeling particularly parched throughout this conversation. "I guess so."

"Hm. Any particular reason why?"

"M-master, you're quite in a chatty mood, aren't you?"

"And for once, you aren't; funny how these things work, doesn't it?"  _How_ _ **what**_ _things work?_ "Perhaps you should fix that."

She blinks, "I… I'm sorry, what?" Did he… did Alucard just give her  _advice?_ Her eyes lower and she considers Pip's words from earlier. Could it be she's just overreacting?  _It doesn't mean I have to do anything, but maybe I… maybe I_ _ **do**_ _fan—_

"Police Girl, look sharp."

"I said  _maybe!_ Eh—!? ...Oh, sorry; I was just… thinking out loud." Alucard ignores her, and they enter Integra's office.

But she can't bring herself to focus for the briefing that Integra provides for them, nor the light scolding she receives in regards of her failure to arrive promptly when called; her attention placed elsewhere.

**( &. )**

Seras can't for the life of her shake Alucard's words off; not for that briefing, and not for the next week. In her self-imposed predicament, she actively stops her incessant following, despite the urges, the curiosity. She didn't have the heart or mind to do so, and now it was  _her_ trying to actively avoid him. The minute times they would inevitably run into each other, she wouldn't even greet anymore; it was always a half second of eye contact, followed by hurried scuttling on her end. The unorthodox advice, from Alucard no less, never really escape her mind, and so she tries, or rather, she  _thinks_ about trying.  _But what the hell am I going to bloody say? Oh hey there Walter, I've noticed that it almost looks like you don't want to talk to me; I only know this because I've been following you everywhere around the mansion, by the way,_ _and also because I can't seem to look anywhere else that isn't your arse._ _Care to talk about it_ _over a cup of tea?_ She groans at the thought.  _This is stupid; I'm being so stupid and for no reason. Maybe Walter doesn't even notice, better yet maybe he doesn't even_ ** _care._** _Meanwhile, I'm here miserable and uptight about a problem isn't even a problem to_ ** _begin_** _with and—_ This is becoming repetitive and dull, and she's getting  _antsy_ over it.

One night, she finds herself unable to sleep. She never could get used to the bloody coffin, no matter what she became; sure, in hindsight, it  _did_ make her stronger, but that was more out of a training habit than a fact. Vampires didn't  _need_ to sleep in a coffin; she's no Alucard. The rain with occasional thunder roaring in her ears isn't helping either. On nights like these, Seras would remain awake, counting sheep until she got at least some semblance of rest. But with everything that's been swirling around, and especially on a night like this, it's just damn near impossible. "Blast it," she murmurs, before all but kicking the lid right off, the strong hinges of it not letting it hit the floor. With a heaving sigh, she removes herself, and stays still, absorbing the noises around her. Oddly, she feels numb; like she's just woken up from a blank dream. Nothing.

"Aw, to bloody hell with it," she knows what she needs; it's not often she seeks nourishment like this. Just because she's been fully transitioned doesn't mean she's eager to go hunting prey, in addition to the fact she wasn't exactly eager to have so many souls inside her; even now, she would still try to have a semblance of her humanity, she normally had a couple in her small pantry, but she knew for a fact she didn't have any presently. She usually drank in the mornings and would try to keep it that way; therefore, she began her little journey through the Hellsing manor.

Her fuzzy-slipper clad feet already knew where to go; with every intention to go  _up._ Walter isn't the butler anymore, and there was no apparent need to baby Hellsing's vampires. If they wanted blood, they could very well go out and find it. The blood bags were in a special refrigeration unit upstairs; she only knows this because she once helped Walter in retrieving them. Even with the night vision making the interior clear as day, Seras let her mind wander. That's all she ever does these days; that's what Alucard had mentioned to her. Vaguely, she wonder if it was a warning. Everything feels rather mute. Bleak, almost, and it's in that moment she realizes that she's taken this little situation too far. Discouraged. That's what it is. The strikes of thunder outside flash the hallways, and she lets her gaze refocus; her mouth waters.

_Hmm, I must really be hungry, then._

It takes a good push and pull on the handle of the room door to get it open, once she arrives, yet it opens a lot easier than she would have initially thought. The actual storage unit is one of the many things that seem ancient in this whole place; she once asked Walter why build the refrigerator, holding  _blood_ of all things, and for vampires no less, up  _here_ rather than down  _there_. He merely shrugged and she thought nothing of it. It's not just a straight up refrigeration unit, which remains  _inside_ the room; outside there are other things, too; extra weapons, armor, bullets, guns. Like a janitor's closet, but for mercenaries.

Half of her body is in the room, and as she's rubbing her eyes of the sleep, "~Alright now; blood bags, blood bags… where art thou blood bags…?" a peculiar scent wafts her nose, and vampire mode kicks in before she can even process the situation. Her vision zooms in, her fangs are pulled out; all she sees,  _feels,_ is red, red and more  _red._ Her shadowy tendril is clawed and halfway through the air; her body is a spear, and her fangs the blade. She slams the intruder by the scruff of the neck against the refrigerator handle,  _specifically so it could hurt,_  squeezing the body like a stress ball. She can see crimson fluid oozing out of the mouth;  _a thief…?_ ** _Who_** _would—_

And then, Seras wonders how her bloody luck could have gotten so  _low_.

Because,  _of course,_ none other than bloody  _Walter C. Dornez_  is within her grasp.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -cuts chapter in half because of growing length-  
> -ends up writing the rest of the chapter twice as long as the first increment-
> 
> Wow, I really don't know what PWP means, eh?  
> Regardless; if the chapter makes you:
> 
> 1) Get you hot and bothered  
> 2) Your eyes water.  
> 3) Fool you into thinking that I've actually read Hellsing/watched the anime/ova in their entirety  
> or  
> 4) A combination of any of the above,
> 
> then I have successfully completed my objective.
> 
> In all seriousness, reviews are super appreciated; I'm especially interested in feedback for this particular piece since it's my first time writing erotica (if it's considered such a thing?). And don't worry, this story is not finished. Let me know what more you guys want to see.

**quid pro quo  
** **(II)**

"W— _Walter_?!"

If she had any more time to be able to appreciate just how genuinely  _shocked_ he looked, she would have laughed; the last time she ever saw such an expression on his was upon his betrayal and—  _oh,_ _r_ _ight._  That's why she doesn't dwell on it too much. In a way that's very much her own, Seras realizes she held him rather painfully; she nearly drops him in her panic, "Oh  _bloody—_ I'm so  _sorry!_ I just thought… I was walking here to get some blood-bags, and I mean,  _I smelled_ something but I just didn't pay attention and  _—_ _damn it_ _!_ I'm terribly sorry! I didn't hurt you, did I? Master was just telling me that I've been too lax and I haven't been and—" She's aware of her rambling to an extent, though is too pent up about Walter's state.  _Oh no,_ her mind screams,  _what if he accuses me of trying to kill him?! What if I hurt him? Truly? Does he hate me even more now?_

But she has no more time to entertain her little frenzy, because she is cut off with a laugh.  _His_ laugh. Her mouth runs dry. Seras blinks at him, arms stilled from their constant flailing; she's never seen Walter…  _laugh._  Not like this. "Miss Victoria," her ears perk up at that; she hasn't heard Walter refer her like that in a while… and  _especially not_ in his young voice. "No need to work up such a fuss; I'm quite alright. I suppose even with such a young body, I have some training to revisit, eh? My, the last time I was ever caught by surprise like  _that_ was… quite a while! I'm impressed! Your skills are vastly improving." His smile is a little unsure if anything, but genuine.

Seras gulps; seeing him up close for more than a couple of seconds, is almost jarring. She notices little things; minute observations and details she couldn't have noticed before from watching him at a distance, even with her enhanced vision. Like how Walter is very capable of looking like anything else  _other_ than calm and collected; he can smile like any other man, and his hair isn't always sleeked back, or how he has a left dimple when he quirks his lips up like that, and—  _he looks different with his hair out of that ponytail and without that monocle._ She scratches her cheek, unused to so many compliments and overwhelmed with her new findings, before smiling herself and marveling at her own reaction. She's embarrassed, but Walter does a good job at not making her feel like an idiot over it. "I… Well, coming from you, that's surely a compliment. But really, I'm  _very_ sorry; I should have been paying more attention..."

"Please, no more squabble; I assure you, I'm fine," he dusts himself off and turns toward the refrigerator. "Let's just be thankful no  _real_ harm was done, yes?" He opens the door, situating himself inside and grabbing exactly what she wants. He throws a chilly blood-bag her way. "I imagine this is what you were after; I don't think you'd be here wandering this part of the manor otherwise. Can't sleep either?"

"Not even marginally…"  _You don't know the half of it…_ She murmurs a quiet  _thank you_ for the bag, easily catching it mid-air before getting to work with it, feeling nothing but sweet relief at the taste once the liquid hits her tongue. She also takes notice that this would be the first time she's seen…  _this_ Walter in such lax clothing; a simple white t-shirt and grey flannel pants. Hm, surprisingly something more modern looking. She snaps herself out of her observations; her brow raises very carefully after a moment after she realizes he's grabbed one for himself. "...You drink?"

"Mm? Oh, indeed… Apparently, despite me becoming a vampire through a rather… nontraditional method, I crave the sustenance regardless, as it were," he takes a moment to reflect, nimble fingers idly twiddling the straw of the bag like it's fascinating; it's a hypnotizing movement, "Although, it's not to the point where I can't eat anything else; this just happens to fill me up more adequately."

Seras blinks a couple of times, shaking herself out of her little staring game and pouts, "Bloody lucky; at least you can  _taste_ the food. I miss eating sweets the most." She shakes her head, now clutching the bag with something akin to contempt. "I noticed you were bleeding again… are you alright? It doesn't seem like those pills are helping out too much..." The last bit comes out as a murmur more than anything, "It's a little worrying, is all. Sometimes you still cough out blood, yes? Are you in constant pain?"

His lack of an immediate response makes her think that she's said something wrong; upon looking at his expression — _eyes averted, light tapping of the bag, lips pressed together—_ she panics a little.  _Did I offend him? Did I say too much?_ "I… I'm alright; I'm just still adjusting; really, it looks worse than it actually feels. It's… different, being in this body… I'm still unsure..." He wipes the dribble of blood with the back of his hand.

 _What does that mean?_ After a moment, she starts prodding at the bag, "I mean, I bet you're happy to be so young again, yes? No more back aches and stuff at least..."

At that, he cracks a smile; that makes her chest expel some pressure, but it doesn't eradicate it.  _He still isn't looking at me,_ and it is here she begins to grow slightly uneasy. "It's a vast improvement, don't mistake my words; but I'm still trying to get used to… some things..." She doesn't miss the slight change in his voice; like it cracks at the last words… almost like he's embarassed.

Without even realizing it, she's angled herself to him in such a way that,  _surely,_ he must look at her, without invading serious territory. It's a lot less chilly in the fridge than she initially thought; though that sort of came with being an enhanced creature and she figures he's on the same boat. Though she's small, she knows the presence she carries as a No Life Queen and everything that comes with the title. She leans against the shelves, uncaring for the rigid metal trays digging into her side. Walter is hunched ever, forearms and elbows resting on the rails, and he still towers over her immensely; he's as tall as Alucard, but the fact is more apparent up close. When he eyes her,  _finally,_ she's marginally pleased, and tries to ignore the spark of thrill that travels up her spine;  _his eyes are literally gleaming, much like that fateful day… is it part of the vampiric traits Millenium gave him? Walter's eyes weren't_ ** _that_** _colour before…_ _were they?_ _—_ "What… uh, what kind of things?"

"New things," he licks his lips; a very mundane and quick gesture, but one that she sees a tad slower than the average mortal being and she's  _entranced_ with the movement.  _Shit, I'm bloody losing it._  Thankfully, he doesn't notice. "Or rather, things that I've forgotten… How they've felt like..." That shouldn't sound sinful and she blames her dirty, deprived mind, and her enhanced senses and heightened intuition; surely she must be imagining things that she  _wants_ to be present. Her throat feels so  _parched_ and it's  _ridiculous_ she should even be this affected by anyone. His expression changes only marginally, but it makes a world of a difference, because the way he suddenly looks at her nearly freezes her on the spot. His eyes flicker to her  _lips_ and then back to her eyes; it's so minute, it's over in an instant and she just  _knows_ that he probably didn't even mean to do that as he turns away from her. Already, he shakes his head rather vigorously, as if catching himself, and runs a hand through his undone hair in slight frustration, "Ah, I don't process things like I  _should_ be, I suppose. I just feel… quite ancient," he says this part more to himself than her, a sad and small and quiet confession, and she inches forward out of pure human habit and almost places a hand on his shoulder, wanting to console him. A sharp tug of his shoulders lets her know he breathes out a scoff, and she stops her hand from going any further, and when he turns to her his smile seems just a tad forced, "You're still quite young after all," he more says this as if trying to convince  _himself,_ "I no doubt am just being an old man about it..."

Seras is left… oddly hollow, if a little offended because  _what is_ ** _that_** _supposed to mean anyway?_ _I'm not_ ** _that_** _young_ _—_ like he just landed a blow on her stomach.  _He can't just…_ ** _look_** _at me like that and then try to blow me off… What's wrong with— Is he—?_ "I'm afraid I'm not following; are you  _embarrassed_ about feeling things in a new way?" Her tone is challenging and brazen, absolutely daring him to be honest.

He looks affronted now, and it makes Seras feel like a slight bitch in the moment, "I— I apologize; I'm just… sort of thinking out loud, Miss Victoria. I may be young now, but I'm afraid my mind is very still in its' seventies. You would think with such advanced science, they could have fixed that too," he sighs, as if disgusted with himself;  _disappointed._ "I still forget things; even silly, small things. I have my strength back, but I'm too clumsy with it; I've broken many vases and glassware already. I don't hunch anymore, thus at my full height; I've bumped into much of the staff and I believe they think I'm doing it on purpose. I have a feeling that's mostly why Integra has me attending to weeds rather than stay inside the manor," he looks at his hand as an aged man would look at his tremors; but his hands are unshakable and still as stone. He's embarrassed, not knowing how to deal with himself, with his new body.

_Why is he putting himself down?_

"Well," she snaps, albeit good-naturedly, and he looks at her with a bemused and acquiescent brow; now he's the one unsettled, on the spotlight "It's a learning experience; you're learning to be young," she shrugs and tilts her head, "… that's all. Everyone goes through it; you just happen to be going through it a second time." That makes him smile; one that's reminiscent of when he was in his old body and  _that_ sends butterflies to her stomach, of all things. "You'll get the hang of it; just don't push yourself. Enjoy it, you know? It's nothing to be ashamed of; I don't believe everyone gets the luxury of being young again. Which by the way, reminds me; how old are you now, exactly?"

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly; such movements so  _normal_ for a young person and it's bizarre to know it's  _Walter_ doing this. She wonders, in that moment, how he truly was when he was this age; that would have been nice to see. "You're going to think me daft, but I'm actually not sure of it myself; I do believe the ultimate goal was to just get me in my prime, although if they really wanted such a thing, they should have just reverted me back to when I was fourteen..."

"I like this form better." And  _shit—!_ She didn't just say that, did she?  _Right?!_ That bloody  _did_ ** _not_** _come out right._ The words had come so naturally, so  _easily!_ And  _bloody hell, damn it, damn it!_ Okay, this could still be easily fixed; nevermind the bemused look he's giving her, this isn't the time to over-analyze everything  _again_ , she needs to  _think!_ "Ah… I mean," she sputters, chest tightening, "I—I d-don't think… I  _mean_ , I don't believe Sir Integra would want another child running around the manor…  _Not_ that you'd actually  _be_ a child! I mean… err…"  _Kill me. Kill me now_ ** _please_** _._ Becoming a vampire was a  **mistake** if it led her to this very awkward moment. She should have let herself be  _raped and killed_ that night by that bloody priest; that would be more tolerable than  _this—_

He clears his throat as he averts his gaze, albeit a little uncertainty, and she thinks for one horrid second she has  _disgusted_ him… until she can plainly see the  _amusement_ in the quirk of his lips. "I believe I know what you mean Miss Victoria. Thank you."

"R-r-right then," she turns away abruptly, trying to get her act together. "S-so, h-having that said, I've been wondering something, Walter."

"What's that, now?"

She's twiddling her fingers now, feeling very fidgety. "I… well, what I'm trying to say is… Have you been—?" But just as the true meaning of her intended words start to bleed onto her tongue, she changes direction last second.  _Bah, I'm such a blasted coward._ Her shoulders sag in defeat. "I mean, have you been faring well with…  _not_ exactly being human?" She turns him then, a little less than thrilled with her own change of the subject, but she powers through anyway. "Did you ever think you would… become a vampire?"

She notices, now of all times, that whenever he seems bothered or uncertain, his eyes avert and he needs to keep his hands  _—his fingers—_ busy, somehow, someway. Old Walter would look as calm as ever and stay as still as a statue; young Walter is expressive, almost easy to read if his story wasn't filled with blue-penciled annotations and doubl-entendres. He reverts to this mannerism for a little longer than he has all night, "I… well, it's not like I never had the offer on the table before."  _Alucard,_ she thinks. "I'm not exactly thrilled, per se, though I'm less excited at being a fake. And yet, to be honest, in a way, I'm glad things turned out like this…" he seems to catch his words, eyes narrowing in thought before hastily correcting himself, "What I mean is; I never exactly envied Alucard in that sense. I'm still much more human, despite everything; the only difference now is that I'm young and I have enhanced abilities. I don't  _need_ blood, I don't  _need_ to hunt to feed and I could still go out into the sun without dying. It's almost a blessing, if an odd one. The only downside is that my inevitable end is prolonged, that's all."

She sympathizes with most of what he's saying, but… With surprising candidness, she juts her chin out, "Why would that be a downside? Dying later, I mean." She truly didn't understand his discomfort with being young; even if there were obstacles, she expected him to be ecstatic!

He smiles knowingly, with age and wisdom she has yet to acquire and it makes her feel a pang of jealousy. "My time was to be soon; there's just a point at a certain age, with everything you've lived through, all the things you've seen and experienced, you look  _forward_ to leaving peacefully. Not to confuse it with some morbid fantasy, mind you; I just mean it in the same way one looks forward to some sleep at the end of a long day." Despite herself, she clutches the blood bag in her hand, now empty, with inexplicable envy. She would never get to experience that in the way he has and the fact only hits her now... Something in her expression must have given herself away, because Walter is now gently ushering her out the cold room. She tries not to show how much the ghost of his hand hovering her shoulder affects her. "Come now, enough about this talk of death and such; you're absolutely right Miss Victoria, I'll enjoy this opportunity, as unorthodox as it has been presented to me."

She has no time to protest, not that she's inclined to, and steps out, now following him. He's kind enough to dispose of their now empty blood bags.

"Seras," she says simply, abruptly.

Walter blinks twice before turning back to her, "I beg your pardon?"

She smiles softly at his lost expression, "You've been calling me  _Miss Victoria_ all night; seems kind of odd to me that someone as young as you is referring to me with  _such pleasantries_  mister."

Seras doesn't hide the slyness in her tone, and he catches on to it because now he's smiling  _back_ with as much mischief as hers, if sincere. "Seras, then. But only if you refrain from ever calling me  _Walter Sir_ ever again. I'm afraid that was reserved for my grandfather, and I don't think it very much applies anymore as I am."

"Indeed. What does the 'C' in your name stand for, anyway?"

"Trust me; you don't want to know."

"That's not exactly fair."

They're out in the hallways, and it hits Seras that this technically does mean they should be walking back down to their respective rooms. It weighs on her like a stone, all of a sudden, and she finds herself wanting to do  _anything_ else besides going in her cramped coffin alone. She blinks as a realization hits her and her mouth goes dry again because  _—_ _well, she wouldn't_ ** _mind_** _being in that cramped coffin… as long as she_ ** _wasn't_** _alone._ She gulps, painfully.  _Well… alright then._ She knows she's being exaggerated, she  _knows this_ , but her lack of experience tramples over everything and it makes her queasy and  _nervous_ and  ** _how_** _would she even—_ Something snaps in her, and she makes a firm decision before anything else. She stops; though her hands tremble a little, as does her confidence, her determination doesn't.  _This_ _needs to_ _be_ _figure_ _d_ _out first; because who know_ _s_ _how many more nights she won't sleep if she doesn't._ "Walter," she says pointedly, and enough to get his attention.

He turns again and he can tell that she needs to say something important. "...Mis— Yes, Seras? What is it? What's wrong?" The look in her eyes is unlike what he's seen before and he doesn't know what emotion to associate with it, but it makes him anticipate her next words almost nervously. He sees the bite of her lips and the clench of her fists and—

"Have you been  _avoiding_ me?" In hindsight, she supposes this sounds out of nowhere and she's afraid he might perceive it that way because it  _would mean that she_ ** _has_** _been over-thinking this whole thing and_ —

Except Walter stills… and he stills  _very_ instantly.

Relief and trepidation clench her insides. But his response provides her some more determination. She chews on her lip just a little more before speaking, and a little bit louder this time, just in case he couldn't  _—or didn't want to—_ hear her over the heavy rain outside.

"Because… because it just seemed that for the duration of your time here after the Millenium battle, you… didn't want to talk to me. Was I wrong?" He releases something of a sigh, shaky and contemplating; she wrings her hands well and hard in nervousness. "You wouldn't even look at me when I would greet you." Still no response, but he's not denying it either; this is progress, so she takes a step or two further. "I thought… I thought you  _hated_ me." At that, he clenches his jaw and this piques her interest, but she continues. "I  _thought._  I was proven wrong tonight. You seem to tolerate me just fine," she smiles at her own joke, and musters the courage, "… but I just wanted to say that…  _I'm sorry."_

Now what's interesting is that he blinks; like he's lost. "W-what…?" he breathes out.

Taking a deep breath, she clarifies, "I'm sorry for what I said; for what I  _didn't_ do that night. When you told me… when you told me you were brainwashed and forced to fight Alucard," saying it loud is a simultaneous humiliation and relief; it feels  _good_ to have it out in the open, to  _finally_ confess her worries, "And… all I said to you was  _take care._ I've felt so horrible about it since then; when that bastard told us, we only managed to barely tell Alucard and I just kept thinking to myself,  _H_ _e told me… Walter_ ** _told_** _me,_ even if you delivered it in sarcasm, you  _said_ it,  _to me_ no less; and how all I said was  _thank you_ as if that somehow showed I cared about you and—" she only stops because she feels her throat welling up and hot, traitorous tears are blurring her vision, staining it with red. She wipes them before they can fall because she doesn't need them to; Walter  _talked_ to her, he  _laughed_ with her just now, he  _isn't_ mad at her. She smiles, "I just… I just needed to get that off my chest; it's been bothering me for the longest time..."

Alucard had been right about something; she  _has_ been getting too lax. She hadn't noticed when Walter took steps into her space; it's not that he's  _too_ close, but it's close enough to have her stifle a gasp at the unexpected and sudden proximity. She blinks twice, words clogging at the back of her throat. He's looking at her rather peculiarly; not smiling, but not exactly frowning. She realizes he's  _studying_ her… and then he inches closer. She can just faintly make out his familiar features; indeed, this is definitely Walter alright. Same eyes, same mouth, heck, even the same jawline. Features on a person didn't change, not at their core; the only difference being that he had youthful, wrinkle-free skin again, and she was able to actively appreciate these features more. The palm of his hand  _—_ _his fingers_ _—_  ghost over her cheek and whether out of intuition, instinct, or some cosmic force she has no control over, Seras closes her eyes half expecting in her self-placed wondrous and momentary delusion, a kiss, though she does no other movements for such an action.

He smells of worn out clothes, moist soil, light cigar, and whatever  _that_ natural scent of his is; it's familiar, it's Walter, and she wonders why she hasn't bothered to notice it before.

Which, in retrospect, is stupid because  _she knows exactly why._

There's an agonizing moment of tense  _nothing_ and she wonders if he's left her standing there like an idiot. But her eyes flutter when she feels soft fabric just under the corner of her eye. She looks back up to see him smiling, and genuinely so; she clutches the handkerchief pressed against her cheek, absorbing a crimson droplet that fell without her consent. "I appreciate that. I appreciate that immensely, Seras, but you have nothing to feel sorry for, and I'm sorry if I ever gave you that impression."

—she can't help it, she grins.

And call it jitters or just plain stupidity on her part  _—or rather, both—_ Seras briefly considers just outright asking him if he'd wanted to kiss her just now. Thankfully, the thought doesn't manifest into words. She uses the  _—thankfully_ _—_  black handkerchief to dab at her bloody tears. "Sorry about that; I'll make sure to thoroughly wash it before giving it back."

He's already stepped away and is too many paces farther than her, and she tries to pretend that doesn't sink her heart a little.  _Bah, I'm starting to become clingy._ "Keep it, I insist; I feel like it would have more uses in your possession."

"Is that just a  _very_ gentlemanly way of saying that I'm a crybaby?"

"What? Please, that's just nonsense..." oh, she can  _hear_ the smirk in that one and trots to catch up to him.

"You fucking wanker," she covers her mouth, stifling a giggle and half expecting him to be mad. To her delight, he chuckles.

"Such a mouth on you, Seras; I do wonder how Alucard deals with the likes of you sometimes."

She shrugs, pocketing the piece of soft fabric in her pink pajama pants. "Would you mind if I walk you to your room? I'm… not exactly eager to sleep in my bloody coffin tonight," releasing a pent up sigh, she shakes her head, "This might be silly but… I actually haven't been able to sleep because of… well, you know." The halls seem more convoluted and long than she remembers; but then again, she's never gone on the top of the manor for blood or run into Walter at such an hour. She doesn't mind.

"Of course you can, but..." Walter seems genuinely bemused at such a confession, if only a little guilty. "Truly? I apologize that I've caused you such distress Seras," he sighs, suddenly looking very tired and  _good bloody job Seras!_ "But then again, I suppose I distressed everyone out in some way when  _that_ happened, didn't I? If only I hadn't been so… so blasted  _weak_  I could have..."

Her hands are held out in a placating manner before she can stop herself, "Please, don't feel compelled to say such things Walter. I..." she bites her lip, wanting to find the right words, "I didn't mean to bring anything ugly up;  _nobody_ blames you.  _You_ shouldn't blame yourself either, you're only human..."

" _Was,_ " he corrects half-heartedly, tired and bitter.

" _Regardless,_ we're not perfect no matter what we are. We aren't gods, not even as vampires," she shrugs, suddenly feeling worn out herself, "Even if we'd like to be. What those bloody bastards did to you was  _inexcusable,_ but you couldn't have fought against it at the time. The important thins if you're  _here,_ back to us alive and well, and  _heck_ you get to live longer,  _pshh;_ that's a bonus! You're back home and perhaps Sir Integra and even Alucard don't express themselves too well, but I think you and I both know they're more than happy that you are." She gives a firm nod, despite thinking that perhaps she pushed that bit too far. She  _do_ _es_ _n't_ need to remind  _Walter,_ of all people, how those two act. He's known them for such a long,  _unfathomably long,_ time; it seems pretty silly to say what he surely knows at this point. To at least marginally justify her little spiel, she throws herself a thumb her way, "Well,  _I'm_ happy; and anyway, that's all you really need."

He laughs again, and she finds that she  _likes_ she can make him do so, just with her own words and person. "Oh Seras Victoria, you… you are indeed something else," he actually  _wipes_ a tear or two that had been welling up in his eyes, "But thank you. I mean that, truly, Seras.  _Thank you for everything you've done for me_." He gives her a knowing smirk; those are her words. She lightly smacks him on the arm for that. "Excuse me, miss, but I do believe that's elder abuse..."

"Oh come off it; that doesn't apply to you anymore," they share a laugh.

When they reach to the lower levels, she realizes just how much calmer the storm outside has become; the full moon spills its' light graciously through the binds, bleeding through the crevices of the curtains. She mourned the loss of being able to appreciate the sunrise in the mornings, but she also greatly appreciated to truly bask in the moonlight when the moon fully rose, big and beautiful, blinding, even. The harsh light didn't blind her and even served as a source of comfort despite the past she's shared with it; she used to be afraid of it… her parents were killed on a full moon, no less than like this one. The intruding fact makes her eyes lower and her mouth grow grim.

"This would be my stop for the night," Walter's voice cuts in, and then he turns to her, and speaks in a softer tone "… are you alright, Seras?"

She blinks at him and wants to hit herself for being so dumb. "I… Yes, sorry, just had a," she lightly taps her head, "...a rather dumb memory. Please, don't mind me." Another pause, "I thought… I thought your room was more down, near Alucard's and mine?"

"That was when I was the official Hellsing butler; Integra was kind enough to… give me a little bit more space, now that I'm essentially not maintaining the organization's vampires. It's an old guest room that we've never used before in the past, much more spacious..." he talks just to fill the silence, but he still doesn't look too convinced at her new mood, "Penny for your thoughts?" he asks more softly.

—and suddenly, she's thinks just how  _nice_ he looks like that against the moonlight;  _just_ in that perfect angle,  _right_ there. His eyes look blazing,  _alive_ and attentive. Something grips her chest in that moment; only a few hours ago, no…  _less_ than an hour ago, she would have denied what she really wanted to do, and would just excuse it with panic or deprivation or even blatant fear. But… now? Now, she doesn't want to fight it.

Not anymore.

"It's…" her breath hitches, and she  _really_ tries not to let the inexperienced jitters seize her steady thought process,  _not now,_ ** _please_** _not now of all time_ _s—_  She swallows almost audibly, and presses her wet lips together before slightly sagging in defeat, "…it's nothing. Really, you don't need to worry about me Walter..." She's already turned away.

— _c_ _oward,_ _c_ _oward,_ _c_ _oward._

"Forgive my bluntness, Seras, but I'm not sure I believe that." Seras can feel his approaching and if she weren't such a little, scared,  _bloody twit,_ she would wait, just to see what he does.

But she's already turning around to face him, hands up on the defensive and  _what am I doing? What am I_ ** _doing_** _?_ "Really, please; it's nothing serious I just—"  _Why am I… pushing away—?_ _When he's so close?_

Walter though? He doesn't believe her, not even for a second; her smile is much too bright to be genuine. Perhaps she can fool the masses, but with old age comes a few tricks; he's picked up on her habits, even when he hasn't meant to. He knows when she's distressed, sad, happy, nervous; he's made it his personal mission to do so, not out of admiration or want, but out of pure necessity, to keep Hellsing's vampires in check and report to Sir Integra if— Except, no. Not really; because he's not Integra's butler anymore, the weight of such a responsibility doesn't fall on him. But this bothers him, and he doesn't appreciate it. His hands ache to touch, to  _hold_ — he knows she needs comfort. That unnatural, cheerful and  _false_ smile is meant to lure him to mind his own business, but he won't have it. Not when the crinkle in her eyes indicate an urge to cry. His hands tremble when he almost reaches her ear, so he changes direction and pats her head instead. A familial and kind gesture, innocent in its' entirety. "Please… You can trust me Seras… there's no need to hide yourself from me," and he means it. Fully and truthfully; he means it in a way that is meant to be between good friends. Even if…  _he_ wants something more,

— _but_  this is enough; it's  _more_ than enough.

Seras's breath hitches and tries to ignore the wobble of her lip that comes with it. Her eyes aren't blurry anymore and she doesn't have the urge to cry, but she's overwhelmed with emotion, need, want, this and that all at once.

"Would you like to spend the night? You could have the bed, if you wish. I have a spare futon… I don't mind; I know you never got used to the coffin," he laughs slightly, regarding her with a kind and knowing smile, "Sorry about throwing your bed away so long ago..." He has the urge to feel like this is inappropriate and then he  _thinks_ about all this; she's a capable woman of stature and ability, he is not disrespecting her and he isn't her parental figure. He's young again and he can build friendships; real and honest ones that offer each other a mutual shoulder for support, without the sneaking suspicion of treason or backstabbing. He trusts her and he knows it's reciprocated, she's proven that.

But the world her around feels like it's on mute; sounds are bleak and her vision is blurred,  _except him._ And even though she  _knows_  full well he doesn't mean it like that because  _his face is concerned, brows furrowed, head tilted, hand patting her head, a respectable distance_ _to her person_ _and he means spend the night as in sleep_ _in_ ** _literally_** _to sleep—_ it's not enough. She nods, though, but the movements after that are blurred, put on fast-forward because she can only  _vaguely_ tell he's walking away, and the sound of hinges of the door indicate movement and—

She will not waste the opportunity; she will forever hate herself if she doesn't  _try._

Walter lets her go in first; he's speaking, offering a sincere smile and gesturing vaguely to where they shall sleep respectively. She can barely make words out of the movements from his mouth; she waits.

"I could get a different set of bed sheets for you; actually, on my way to get some, I could also get us a some tea; we don't have to sleep right away," he strokes his chin, wondering how else he could accommodate her, just to make things seem less rigid and strange and  _unorthodox_ this situation may come across as. "I don't exactly know what the effects of it would be, now that I think of it; the tea, I mean. Perhaps if we add some blood to it, the taste won't affect you too much. Though, I'd have to go back upstairs again. If you want, I—" And it just happens too fast; too fast for even him, though that makes sense, doesn't it? He's only an  _artificial_ vampire; not even much of a good one because in a span of less than a second, one that he let his guard down and could have been  _attacked_ for all he knew because of the sudden pressure to his chest—

Seras Victoria has tackled him, pinned him to the ground and is kissing him.

It takes him a moment,  _or two really,_ to process the situation fully. His eyes remain open; much too open for someone who's being actively kissed and  _should_ ideally kiss back. The rest of his sentence is drowned by her,  _by all of her…_ even though  _he_ know full well this is… well—  _his mind_ doesn't quite catch up, not yet, because his  _hands_ are in mid-air, close to her shoulder blades, but positioned as if to ready his wires, ready for battle just from the sheer startle she's given him. And before he can  _consider_ , just  _one mil_ _l_ _isecond before he's reciprocating,_ Seras breaks it off.

Her breath is one of nervousness, almost hyperventilating; his is silent, non-existent. They stay like that for a breath before she lifts her head further, his hands twitching…  _aching_ at the lost opportunity; she's looking at him, unsure, maybe a little afraid but  _determined_ to have her say. "I— I..." she wipes her mouth, not so much in disgust, but rather as if reminding herself of what she's trying to accomplish;  _of which, he isn't sure_ _._ Walter sees how fiercely she gulps; her hands, which were previously woven though either end of his head  _almost_ caressing him, are clenched tightly against either side of him. If it wasn't for what she'd just done, he'd assume she wanted to pulverize him as an enemy would. "You… You said earlier today you wanted to enjoy your youth..."

His brain frantically searches for the memory. — _I'll enjoy this opportunity, as unorthodox as it has been presented to me._

"I… I want to h-help—" she bites her lips, the poor thing in a near panic attack; but he's so bewildered by her desire to surpass herself, it's awe-inspiring. "I want to help. I want to help you do so," she sounds more sure the more she says it, and the meaning is lost to him just because of the sheer incredulity, "I want to help you enjoy your youth, Walter… if you'll have me… If you  _want..._ "  _me,_ he supposes she wants to say,  _If you want_ ** _me_** _._ He's glad, in that moment, that he doesn't need to breathe; should he have been truly human in this moment, he would have died ten seconds ago from holding his breath. But he must be taking too long to react; his mind is sluggish and vaguely, just vaguely, he wonders if he's having a stroke—

—she appears solemn now, but accepting. "I'm… sorry," she says, as if waking up, "I… I forgot myself," and he has to wonder why that sounds closer to  _I wanted to try this out and see how you would react_ rather than a genuine apology, and that  _can't_ be right because although everything else around him seems so far away, so  _bleak and mute,_ he can hear her… he can  _feel_ her, so clearly. And as she slowly tries to peel herself away, his mind finally catches up to his brain; he has control of his body again and—

—it's Walter now that has taken her breath away, breath she doesn't have.

Long fingers are holding her cheeks, near tenderly, curling at the nape and holding steady, firmly. His mouth is on hers, kissing her fully, molding to hers as if they're meant to be there, meant to be connected. She's glad she doesn't need to breathe, despite the fact that she's going through the motion of it out of pure habit. Her hands are shaking, unsure where to go, where to grasp, and she ends up running them through his hair. She no longer has him pinned like an enemy underneath, rather  _he_ has her straddled to him as he sits upright, holding her with intent,  _with experience._ It's a lot to take in, but she tries her best to keep up, all her senses on overload, numb, on, off, everywhere and nowhere. He moves with precision, with purpose; as if rehearsing an old dance.

Soon, one hand is on the small of her back, the other holding the back of her neck, holding her securely. He pulls away, and she wants to see his face, has a craving to see  _his eyes,_ but she doesn't get the chance to even fully open hers because his  _wet_ and  _searing_ mouth is now on her neck and she almost yelps at surprise, at the  _sensation._ He brushes the hairs on her nape upward and out of his area of interest tenderly, taking his time, his breath hitting her  _just_ enough to raise goosebumps, placing wet kisses, licking,  _burning_ her so much that she  _swears_ he has at least one silver tooth in there. He's careful with his own fangs, despite not really needing to be. She's only ever fantasized about such things,  _of course_ she's touched herself, her imagination only providing so much, which was satisfactory at the time. But it's  _so_ different with someone doing it for you, and doing it  _in so many simultaneous areas._

Her rounded nails dig at his scalp, and she gasps at these new sensations, the  _wetness._ Her head moves upwards, subconsciously making room for his ministrations, and her eyes follow suit before closing them again. She can't even think, not one singular coherent makes it past her mind, much less her lips. He doesn't move from the spot and though  _it's a_ _blessing_  for her, it becomes insufficient and she has other places that need immediate attention.

With a trembling hand, she slowly but firmly tugs the wrist that's at the small of her back, pulling it to her desired area; under her tank top, to her left breast right at the erect peak. He follows suit, seemingly knowing more than she does at her desires, and she lets him,  _relieved_ because she sure doesn't, not right now.  ** _H-h_ _is_** _hands—_ that's the most she can think as long, wire-combat experienced fingers maneuver delicately and so sharply precise over her flesh. She's never been a moaner, or even a sound maker during the times she's given herself such treatment; her pleasure is released by shaking, unsure breaths and measured sighs and clenched eyes.

Goosebumps are raised everywhere on her skin, delicately hot and burning but sensitive _;_ she's still too new at this game, and the primal,  _currently busy,_ part of her wants to just come right now. This is enough,  _this is more than enough_ ; but the other part of her, the part that'd been attracted to this man, wants to take him into consideration too. She almost hates… no, she  _envies_ how he's  _so_ in control; he knows the workaround, while she's here sitting like some…  _some— "_ _W-Walter_ _…"_ she breathes, a private thought she didn't mean to let bleed out as such, and she hates herself in the moment because he's pausing his ministrations to look at her.

She's nervous to see his face; she doesn't know  _why_ she gets the most ludicrous thoughts in the worst of situations. She has the distinct, sharp feeling he might laugh at her. It takes her a moment to process that he's just as flushed as she feels; cheeks flushes, breaths in pants, trembling lips. But it's all in the eyes, his eyes contain acute sharpness and experience and  _wisdom_ _and lust_ — he says nothing, his hand under her shirt slowly burning skin in its' trail to leave, which she misses  _sorely_ and immediately _._

She could be taken to heaven just from those eyes alone.

He doesn't break the eye contact, mouth sinfully wet and swollen from his work —and it's only when he stands as he holds her, wrapping her legs around his firm and strong waist with newly found strength that he surely hadn't possessed for near decades, as he walks over to the bed  _—and for that, she is thankfu_ _l—_ does Seras realize that  _he's been wanting this too, hasn't he?_ She perceives the world around her like a memory, Walter being the one solid,  _real_ thing in her presence. Just the slightest movement of her knee as she tightens her hold on his torso is enough  _—more than enough_ to send a stark shudder all through her spine. Just a little more, and she realizes she can feel his growing excitement, making her mouth dry.

He could take her in the air, just like this; he doesn't even need to kiss her again, he just needs to  _look_ at her.

Gently, oh so gently, he places her on the bed, inching his large hands over her forearms to her wrists, holding her. "You're trembling..." he whispers, it's an observation and a question, and she  _definitely_ envies his ability to sound so calm, so collected even now, even when he looks like he's about to crumble; she can't trust herself to speak so clearly. His thumbs softly rub circles in her palms; they both know her inexperience, that's how  _vampiras_ are made. But Walter doesn't make the mistake of doting her; inexperience does not equal naivete or immaturity.

But he has questions too;  _Why him? Why now? Here? Like this? How long_ _has she wanted this_ _?_ _With_ ** _him_** _?_ ** _Why_ _him_ _?_** _—she wouldn't do this if he was his real age, physically, she wouldn't, she wouldn't._ He'd probably have a heart attack mid-way if he were. He thinks repeating that enough times will pull him away, snap him awake, make him hurt for how shallow this situation is being presented by her, make him realize that he holds  _so many years_ over her that most likely any other person would consider this pedophilic  _—which he knows is_ ** _insanity_** _because she's a capable_ _adult_ _woman_ , or at the very least make him become annoyed and not so  _enraptured_ with her _._ Nothing works. "Why…?" he breathes out, and it's all that comes out. This should freak  _one_ of them out, at least he thinks it logically should… right? His erection says otherwise, but  _whatever._

 _So why doesn't it, though?_ He's  _old_ ; she's—

He sees a muscle tick in her jaw; her pride and determination manifests into her now red eyes, and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Body language reveals the primal state of a person, but the  _eyes_ reveals the mind, the very soul. She's  _petrified,_ but she's not weak, not without desire. Seras doesn't  _just_ 'want' this or him in the shallow sense of the meaning. She wants  _him_ ; all of him, whatever that includes. The realization comes from the lines between their devastating and seemingly final exchange:  _Thank you, for everything you've done for me._

Her hand, trembling but sure of its' destination, travel behind his neck, and tugs hair as if to reprimand him for asking and then she is pulling him to her, slowly but firm with purpose. Walter decides he will not fight it; he follows, lets himself succumb to  _whatever_ this is. He closes his eyes as man drowning himself does, and he submerges without struggle,  _not unlike how he'd accepted defeat when he was in Alucard's mercy_ — but it's different,  _so different_ _—_

He has her answer.

He becomes alive the second their lips touch for the third time that night. She only had the element of surprise as her trump card, but she has no more advantage to the situation; she lets her body's desire guide her movements, and she hangs onto him. His movements are languid, yet strong. Her palms ride up under the fabric of his shirt, and though her eyes are more glued to the ceiling out of nervousness, the very  _feel_ of his back and shoulder movements send something to her hips. He's stronger than she had initially perceived him; not at all lanky or without solidity, but there's curves to him too, like on his shoulders and the juncture where his thighs and arse connect, even if she doesn't get the full feel of them under his pants.

She moves with uncertainty, out of the practice, but with intent. His hands slowly ride up her tank top, the skin he touches burning, and they take in the flesh of her breasts, sparing skin as they seep through the space between his long fingers. But he's measured, and he makes sure to give attention to  _every_ inch of her breasts; rotating his wrists and encompassing the soft flesh, thumbs pressing into her rosy nipples. He stops, much to her dismay, but is soon gently tugging her top, asking for removal. Seras complies and he follows suit with his own shirt.

He's…  _gorgeous._ And that's  _such_ a stupid, overused and  _cliché_ way to describe a man at the peak of sexual urgency, but it's the one word that echoes through her mind. He's not perfect; he's  _human._ The scars of his fights each tell a story, the hardened, practical muscles in his arms and chest tell her he's hard-working, natural. Her mouth is dry  _again. I need to carry some water or something..._

Walter takes a moment to look at her; she can't help the automatic covering of her chest, just out pure habit, instinct, a little bit of embarrassment and vulnerability. But she doesn't look away either. He's hovering her, their bodies, their selves close but flesh and skin not touching,  _not yet. Is he regretting this? Does he want to stop?_ She can't decipher that look in his eyes, probably because she's so overwhelmed, and it isn't until she takes in his clenched fists, shifty eyes and twitch of his mouth that she almost laughs because they're both messes. Utterly, truly and inevitable embarrassed messes. He wants to make sure  _she_ wants to continue, but he probably doesn't even have it in him to ask something like that out loud.  _How long has it been for him?_

She gulps, and his eyes follow the movement of her throat as she does so. Her hands and arms are shaking less, but she moves first, roaming to his shoulders and the back, pressing herself to him in a type of embrace. She places the base of her forehead where the taut skin of his shoulder and neck meet. A strong hand travels to the center of her back, holding her there, supporting her.

"This isn't… this is..." he starts.

"It is. We'd either be ostracized or made fun of, or both. Maybe get yelled at by Sir Integra and maybe even Alucard if we're lucky..."

Walter gulps, but she's sure it's because he doesn't really care. How? Easy, by making sure to  _perfectly_ heave her chest as she enunciates every word. She can feel the twitch of his fingers.

"This is wrong," he croaks.

"You don't seriously believe that."

"And what if I do?"

"If you really did, you wouldn't have groped my chest and made out with me like a horny teenager," there's a playful bite to her words; she sounds more confident than she really is, evident by her shaking, "Which, essentially, you kind of are." He makes a non-committal sound from his throat, but he doesn't say anything. "Were these the kinds of things you were having trouble dealing with?"

Something clicks in his mind, "You… Did you…  _plan_ this?" he whispers, incredulous.

She rolls her eyes  _because bloody hell that took you a minute, didn't it?_  "In my defense, I didn't think it would  _work,_ let alone get this far." She's worried for a second that he'll seriously become angry with her, and she holds a breath. She is rewarded a  _smack_ to her ass. "O-oi! D-d- _did you just—!? How dare you!"_ She tenses immediately in surprise, discomfort and disbelief; but she's trying really hard not to laugh.

"Simple, love; like this," and  _wait, what did he—_ he does it again before she can think.

" _Okay!_ You're bloody well asking for it—!" He shuts her up with an open-mouthed kiss, too scorching for her to take herself away from. When they break away from that, they remain, still not too sure how to proceed, or even if they should, but enjoying being in each other's arms like this despite the strange, unorthodox circumstances. Both are trying to collect themselves.

She presses herself to his chest again, trying to hide, in a way, "...do that again," despite her voice being muffled, he seems to understand her. She can feel the shaking breath he takes, as if calming himself down.

"… Smack you?" he whispers, hand now stroking her back; she could fall asleep to that if he keeps it up. "Ah, so you're into  _that_ kind of thing..."

" _N-no, damn it! That's not what I meant!_ "

She feels like her chest can  _breathe_ when he jerks suddenly, she hangs to him just a little more securely, and now he's holding her a little tighter, as he snorts. She smiles. He can feel the smile through his skin, too. "We didn't even do anything."

"Then let's go and  _do_ something then. Let's get yelled at." she says, brazen and emboldened and  _sure_ , feeling more and more at ease. "Let's get into some  _real_ trouble."

His other hand travels to her cheek, moving her head just slightly so that they're at least  _looking_ at each other. His grin does things to her, it's young and innocent and mischievous, "I think I might know how..." Both hands gently pry her off, and are now stroking the top of her thighs, eyes flickering to her and wordlessly asking. She gets it immediately, though curiously, she places her hands on his, guiding him as they both remove her pants, suddenly disrobing in front of him not such a nervous action. He slides the pants from under her, lifting her legs just above to make room, and soon his fingers are touching the edge of her panties  _—thank god it was pink-lacy-Tuesday—_ as if unsure what to do. She would rip them off for him, if for the sole fact she's nervous to show him just how aroused she really is. Which, is pretty bloody stupid because  _that's the whole point._

"It's okay, it won't bite," he glares at her for that, and she clamps her lips to cease the oncoming laughter.

He kneads with delicate thumbs, applying just a little pressure on the inside; his eyes look to her, assessing her reaction. Seras is sure he can smell her, and she  _prays_ it's not a turn off. It seems to be the opposite, if his dilating pupils are any indication; he looks  _hungry,_ and she tries not to give herself or their desire the credit. After all, they're vampires; blood is a big factor, and perhaps he didn't drink enough when—

Except those thoughts are quickly shattered because in a movement that's she's sure is at his peak of his prowess, he slides down the delicate fabric, and places that  _damn bloody searing mouth_ of his in her wet center. She means to gasp, but she chokes on saliva and the sudden embarrassment and it comes out like suffocation. There's  _more than enough_ fluid to drown him, to put it crudely, and the contrast in temperatures,  _against his mouth and her wetness,_ has her almost fainting just from the over-sensations. And then he slides his tongue, and it  _moves_ so  _carefully and intentionally and in patterns—_

" _O—ooh my goodness..."_ she whispers so quietly, so minutely that she wonders if she even spoke in the first place, eyes glazing. Her hands don't know where to go; his hair, the sheets, or her breasts. She's like a floundering fish, and he pushes his mouth deeper, and her hips ripple at the ecstasy. His arms and hands encompass her arse and waist, keeping her steady; she's glad, in that moment, that he doesn't need to breathe, because she's squeezing her muscled thighs. The movement of her hips is awkward, new and unsure, but they gain a slight rhythm that well connects to the  _wonderful_ things his tongue is doing and she realizes what he's trying to accomplish; he's studying her. He's seeing what movements elicit the best reactions and she  _tries_ to pay attention as well, because  _this_ is new for her too, except she's getting too lost in the bliss. The certain  _counter-clockwise_ and  _downward_ swipe in between her lips and to her clit gets her near jumping and he grips the soft skin of her thighs.  _Checkmate._ He does it again and again and  _again_ and variations of the same movement, until there's that familiar sensation bubbling in her pelvis.

It's quick but it's  _bliss_ ; as is the consequence of trying to control the arrival of her own orgasm. How stupid of her to think she even could, considering what he's doing to her. He's still against her, the clenching of his walls and she takes a second to catch her breath and think,  _okay, that's fine, next one will be less of a buzzkill and—_

Except, he doesn't remove himself like she anticipates. She angles her head on the flat surface of the mattress, trying to catch what he's  _doing,_ because what in the  _world_ is he  _doing_?

Their eyes meet; wide, confused ones to intense, sure ones. She blinks and he shuts his and—

_Oh._

His tongue is doing the same thing except  _—wait… what—_ his fingers join this time, she hadn't even noticed the absence of his hand from his thigh.

She comes crashing down again.

And he repeats it.

Again.

And again.

_...and again._

Each time her hips get more practice, confident in their movements, as if her body knows exactly what to do. Her back follows suit and she  _didn't know she was capable of feeling_ ** _that_** _like_ ** _this—_** Her own fingers would cramp before she could even  _try_ for a second, instantaneous orgasm, so she never truly experienced such a continuous stream of bliss, not like this. The sounds of his middle and pointer finger pumping in her is utterly  _obscene_ and  _loud_ and embarrassing, but they're drowned out by her growing gasps and  _just doesn't stop!_ She loses count of how many highs she goes through after only a minute and a half, and despite wanting to challenge herself to see just  _how_ far she can go, it's starting to sting; and she doesn't want it to sting like this  _just yet._ "W-Walter… y-you can—!" she croaks, shaking hand trying to gesture to him to stop somehow. As the last one hits, he's pulled away, which results in the sudden lack of warmth and wetness to add to the effect, and her hips are in mid-air. The sensation is almost too much and she almost asks him to  _put that mouth_ ** _back_** _—_

Even the slight contact with the nub of her clit to his nose gets her sucking in a breath. Slowly, he raises himself up and the cheeky bastard,  _smirking,_ wipes his mouth like he's just had a scuffle; she's reminded of the blood that had dribbled earlier that night in the fridge, and her brain for  _some_  reason connects those actions and she's—

This is going to be a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

**quid pro quo  
** **(III)**

**SERAS IS STARTING** to learn many things; even if they'd just spent less than ten, no, fifteen minutes in this manner. One doesn't become a  _Draculina_ without becoming more intuitive and alert and  _quick;_ one of the things being that,  _thankfully,_ she can recover much faster than when she was human, or that she apparently may or may not have the libido of a closeted nymphomaniac  _—and actually, maybe she is—_ **or** that she  _really_ likes Walter's eyes. She tells him so, inadvertently in her post-orgasm, drunken state. When she realizes she's said such a thing, she blinks, coming to and tries to  _fix_ it, "Uh… I didn't mean that..."

He actually looks a little affronted, which, in his state  _—hair askew, somewhat sweaty with_ ** _her_** _damn fluids dripping from his chin and_ ** _damnit_** _why_ _is he licking_ _his lips_ _?—_ makes it hard for Seras to actually take too seriously or give her the impression she's in any real trouble. "...so you  _don't_ like my eyes?" his fingers mouth, circling the area around it as if considering something, and he does it in such a casual and nonchalant manner that it  _really_ shouldn't draw her eyes to the movement, and she scolds herself for doing so. He doesn't notice her struggle and she  _likes_ to think that he genuinely doesn't; but knowing him, he's probably just doing it to mess with her.

"I just didn't mean to say it out loud,"  _that's not any better,_ "I just… you wouldn't say that, or well you  _shouldn't_ say those kinds of things, I think..." she's just burying herself in her own bloody casket. The only basis she's going off of is her own embarrassment, soap operas, and a book  _—or thirty;_ she must sound plenty stupid. Biting the inside of her cheek, she runs a hand over face, suddenly all too aware of her open legs and sleek,  _pumping_ spot that's just  _out in the open,_ and, having never really been in this kind of situation before, makes her hyper-aware of where she is and who she's with. Not that she's feeling  _regret,_ but perhaps she moved way too fast?  _I mean, if I'm bloody saying stupid things like this—?_ She turns away, curling herself inward as her arms circle around her chest and her thighs close, suddenly wanting to cover herself.

— _and suddenly?_ She feels just like a kid all over again, not unlike her death at the church, when Alucard hovered over her.  _What's with me?_ Why does this feel familiar? What's bothering her  _now?_

She finds herself being caged in again, tenderly and not unkindly; Walter's broad shoulders encompassing her field of vision makes a slight hitch in her throat. She blinks up at him, his soft expression nearly rendering her a little speechless. He twirls a strand of her hair between dexterous fingers, "I told you, there's no need to hide yourself from me," he murmurs, and she wonder if knows more about her feelings than she does; the thought makes her gulp. His sly grin catches her a little off guard, but she has no more time to contemplate the matter, because he's resting his head on the crook of her neck,  _not unlike a kitten,_ and he's careful not to crush her beneath the weight, and her hands run through his hands on their own accord. "Call me old fashioned, but I think I prefer a compliment or two during intimacy,"  _Intimacy,_ her mind echoes back, and it fills her with a nice warmth in her chest.

She scoffs, and lightly yanks his hair, "If you want a nosh off, just say so you bloody goat," she very well enjoys the stillness of his body as the undignified words. She is awarded another smack against her thigh, making her jump, now suddenly very aware how naked she is, " _Oi!_ Bloody stop that unless you want me to start hitting  _your_  arse!"

She can feel his grin widen in the crook of her neck, "Maybe I want you to."

"Ah," she blinks, deadpan as she twirls locks of black hair between her fingers, "So the truth comes out, I see; Walter C. Dornez, Angel of Death, actually partakes and is an advocate in  _sadomasochism_  practices. Closeted throughout his life, perhaps?" she nods, as if coming to a consensus, "Yes, it all makes sense now. It would explain the wires for sure.  _Especially_ the chains you carried with you when you begun to fight Alucard. How about—  _OW! Enough with the bloody smacking!"_ He can tell she's trying not to laugh, but the genuine undignified tone in her tone makes him laugh himself. He kneads the sore spot, rubbing up and down in apology.

"I do hope this isn't how Alucard keeps you in line," though she can see the mirth in his eyes and the quirk of his lips which is  _very_ contagious, she can also sense just the slightest hint of…  _Jealousy? Uncertainty? Skepticism?—_ underneath the surface of his tone. She has to stop herself from cringing at the thought of her and  _Alucard._

She shudders and shakes her head vigorously, "If he ever smacked me I don't think I would honestly ever have my legs anymore." They share a chortle and she marvels at how fascinatingly  _easy_ this is…

"That's a relief then," she rolls her eyes at him even though he's not looking at her face.

 _Relief,_ she thinks, idly scratching lightly behind his ear before tugging again,  _he still needs to get some relief,_  "I was serious, you know."

He opens an eye to peer at her, "About the smacking?"

"I'm going to ignore that suspiciously hopeful glint in your eye, pervert—"  _'need I remind you, **you're** the one that initiated this by literally tackling me like a ghoul,' _he says, "… and redirect you to my previous statement;  _nosh off,"_ She pats his broad shoulder, trying to indicate to him to get off as she starts to squirm, "It's now or never; you'll be good practice. Now come on, pull those pants down."

He ignores her straightforward demand, and rests a hand on her shoulder, slightly refraining her from wiggling any further. "Actually, if you don't mind, I feel like… trying something else. Something I haven't really experienced since I was—" he bites his lips, looking embarrassed and it makes her want to hold her tongue from laughing. He clears his throat, "If that's okay."

"Sounds kinky; I bet it involves the wires, doesn't it?"

"You're making it really hard for me not to smack you again." He receives a yank of his hair for his confession, but she nods.

It becomes clear what he wants once he guides her hand to the edge of his pants; something  _like_ fear passes through her, but it's overshadowed by sheer curiosity and exciting anticipation. She's not necessarily confident, but she'll always rise to a new challenge. The pants come off, and she tries not to marvel too much at the build of his strong legs and thighs. He's giving her power  _literally right in her grip,_ and Seras can't help but feel just a tiny bit smug. Her daring nature mutes first nervous jitters, and she idly traces the outline of his firm thighs before taking his  _very ready_  cock in her hand and  _huh, alright; so this is how it feels_. He jerks just a tad at the sensation, and her eyes shine dangerously; it makes him amused and just a little bit nervous. "I know it's not the most exciting thing we could be doing; but I haven't really done this since I was—" he means to sound assertive, and to his embarrassment, it comes out more like a nervous crack. "Actually, I've never had this, specifically, done before."

Amazing how he can  _still_ sound so controlled despite the growing look on his face. The friction of the calloused tips of her slim finger pads against the tip feels too real, and he has to remind himself that  _this —them, this, now—_ is happening, and he's  _almost_ shocked. "That's alright; it's the simple things, right? You're rediscovering things…  _old_ things that I'm sure you've missed." She's talking but it's more incessant rambling, speaking without thinking as she tries to hone this new skill. He's been ready, so she doesn't necessarily see the transition; but it's still very fascinating to watch regardless, how his lashes flutter against the top of his cheeks, how his mouth is letting out small pants, puffs of hot breath. She strokes; up, down, up down, nothing complicated, and she just keeps repeating the motion, unsure. His cheeks are gaining color; but unlike him, she's doesn't pick things up too easily the first time. "You don't want… lotion or something? Are you… is this okay?" she murmurs; the skin being dry like this just  _can't_ be painless.

Her voice brings him back, just a bit, and he manages a shake of his head. Seras purses her lips not entirely convinced, and soon, she brings her hand to his, making sure he's gripping himself. "Show me. Show me what you do, show me  _how._ " He considers this for a moment, but he's switching the hands; his on top of hers.

He hears her breath hitch, and he brings his lips to her ear as he turns his way. "...alright, then."

His voice  _does_ things to her; amazing things and it gets her annoyed  _because what the bloody hell,_ _ **he's**_ _the one that's supposed to flustered; I have his dick in my hand and_ _ **damnit**_ _—_ She gets a pleasure having his hand wrapped around his; what makes her shift nervously is that he doesn't take his eyes off of her and  _god, who's the one_ _being jacked off_ _here?—_ Her own walls begin pumping, the only friction being her position on the sheets; she's not actively making an effort to get herself off. He makes an effort to gently squeeze her hand at the head, ascending the pressure a little more each time; he visibly reacts, and she can't help but mirror his reactions. With the glaze in his eyes, the tremble of his chin and the slight buck of his hips, she can't help but  _almost_ feel like she's intruding  _which is stupid because what the hell does she think they're_ _ **doing—**_ his sudden jerk makes her jump, but she finds her thigh being gripped raw by his hand,  _"_ _Fuck,"_ he gasps— and she's so  _distracted_ by this new, intimate and vulnerable side of Walter that it takes her a moment to realize the oozing stickiness coating her hand.  _Oh._

Her inner walls spasm and she realizes this is the first time she's climaxed without even touching herself. Her eyes flutter before they are wide, curious and fascinated. They're so  _close,_ forehead-to-forehead, eyes glazed, breaths mingling, and she thinks out of everything they've done, this has to be the most intimate. Not the handjob, but  _this…_ "I… I apologize,"

He's still in her hand, twitching and perhaps if she were more brave or sexy, maybe she'd  _lick_ her hand or something. But she doesn't have the guts. "What… sorry about what?"

"I..." he looks sheepish, as if waking up from a haze, "I… didn't even last two minutes."

Her lips quirk, and she can't help it, laughs. "That's what you're sorry about? Why would you be sorry about that? That's what practice is for. I don't care if you only last  _two seconds;_ I can't even last  _one_ when I keep having to look at you." And almost immediately she wants to sink  _deep_ in a hole because  _what the_ _ **hell?!**_ _Can I get any more… cliché and stupid and_ _ **fuck**_ **—**  But her embarrassment melts away, though, when he chuckles; a good and honest one that comes out from the chest because for some reason? She knows he's not being malicious; so she starts laughing too.

And when they stop laughing, they start to talk of all things, despite her intentions to continue exploring this; they talk about everything, nothing, the weather, the manor, but even the most mundane topics somehow end up being the best.

Eventually, they end up sitting across each other on the mattress. Seras is wearing his shirt, which more appropriately serves as a dress on her, and he's pulled his pants back up. His hands are tangled with a makeshift tied yarn, the intricate pattern held nice and firm between his fingers.

"… and  _t_ _his_  is called  _Apache Door_ ," he maneuvers the cigar in his mouth to the left side of his mouth with his lips, eyes intent on building the last remaining twists.

Seras tilts her head, eyes narrowed on the pattern, "And what can you do with this one?"

"Several things; depending if I flick my wrist clockwise or counter clockwise, I can get various appendages. It also depends  _what_ appendages I get in here. Watch this; put your fingers right…  _here_ ," he tilts the large pattern and lifts the small finger to specific corners.

"I… don't think I want to. What if you cut my fingers off?"

"You can make more," he shrugs, but his grin at her sputtering betrays any semblance of apathy. "It's  _yarn;_ it's harmless. The most that can happen I'll cut off your circulation." She glares at him. "Would you just place your damn fingers in already, blasted woman."

" _Alright!_ Bloody hell, but if you cut anything off I  _will_ slap you!"

"Dully noted."

She hesitantly places her fingers in, and lets him maneuver them; he makes it so that she snaps her fingers, albeit rather slowly, just to show her which movements of his fingers and wrists control specific aspects of the yarn. Soon, he has her waving, and even making a hand puppet mimicking a dog. "Wow," she says appreciatively, "I can't even do a proper hand puppet myself," her eyes are glued to the threads, looking in wonder. "Doesn't it get confusing to keep track of all the movement though? Controlling so much with simultaneous movement at the same time?"

"If you have the patience and attention to detail, you pick up rather quick." He undoes the pattern, getting work to another one. "This one," he holds it in front of her, and he smiles appreciatively, "...is a heart. Alternatively also called  _Eyes and Mouth_ , though I was never quite sure why..."

"Oh! I see it! You can definitely choke someone bloody good this one if the string were any wider..." she gently traces the edge of the 'heart', curious on how he could hold is near taut. "How do you hold the thread so steady? When it's bigger, I mean; it's enough to get cut off heads," she shudders when she thinks back to their fight with Jan Valentine's little ghoul army.

"That's easy; you just loop it with your wrists. Though, it really depends on the material of the thread itself. When I was younger, I just used regular sewing thread, from a spool; surprisingly steady. Though when you deal the undead and supernatural, it doesn't cut it. I switched over to steel; I had it especially made for combat; the thinner, the better. But anything too thick or thin wounds your palms and wrists if you don't manipulate it well," he undoes the pattern, taking a drag of the cigar and exhaling through the nose. "It also depends on what your goal is; steel is good for ghouls, as is regular metal for humans, but I've stuck with blessed  _monofilament_ material since I was fifteen."

Seras knits the yarn on her own fingers delicately, looking at it like it's a puzzle. "When you were fifteen, eh? So, around the Mesozoic Era?"

"Very funny."

She smirks, proud of her little jibe, and begins to idly loop the yarn. "I know exactly  _one_ string figure, I learned it as a kid when I was leafing through a  _book_ about it, of all things," she shakes her head, as if in disbelief that there was a whole craft about making entertainment and games with just thread.

"You know,  _little girl_ , the art of knot tying has been around for  _eons_. It's used as much as spoken language; present in nearly all cultures," he tilts his head, curious at the figure she's making, "There's even a study dedicated to it; it's called knot theory. It's actually mathematics." He snubs the cigarette on the ash tray he has next to his thigh.

"Knot theory? Sounds like it's complex as hell," her eyes are narrowed in frustration, tongue tip just peeking through her lips, "A-ha!  _Got it!_ Feast your eyes,  _old man,_ on... _"_ She holds up the figure between her fingers, looking for all the world absolutely proud. " _Witch's Broom_! Pretty damn impressive, eh? Actually, I think it's also called  _Chicken Leg_  if I'm not mistaken. Though I'm not sure what you can  _do_ with this one..."

He refrains from telling her it's a basic figure, though she probably knows it, and as it is, there's limited uses for it. Suddenly, the sudden  _lightbulb_ gleam in his face unnerves her, "I can show you something else," he scoots closer, eager as a child would be to show their peers a new toy. He hunches slightly, enough that he's more at eye level, and undoes her figure, "Okay, follow me carefully on this and do exactly as I say..." he gives her very detailed and explicit instructions,  _loop it through your thumbs, pull the diagonal strand, loop this,_  until she ends up with something just a little complex looking than the three stranded  _Chicken Leg._

After a second, realization dawns on what is currently entangled in her fingers; "It's… it's a  _dog!_ " She holds it, as if fascinated by the prospect of such a thing; who knew you could make so much with mere string!

"It gets even better; pull this hand," he motions her the movement.

She almost sputters, "It's  _bloody running!_ It's a running dog!"

Walter doesn't know what's funnier; the fact that she's absolutely  _thrilled_ like a child would be with a balloon animal, the fact that she keeps pulling it over and over to make it run, or just the sheer fact that he's never realized before how Seras is easily entertained. He decides it's all of it. He tries to hide his mirth behind his palm, resting the elbow on his knee and he wonders, for about the hundredth time this night how he's in this situation, with  _her_ of  _all_ people. He thinks of the possible consequences to all this; he thinks of Sir Integra, Alucard,  _her;_ he thinks of all their previous interactions, from when she was first introduced to Hellsing and wonders  _when_ exactly they  _fell;_ he thinks of tonight, of how she initiated this,  _more like rammed him;_ he thinks of the possibilities,  _does she_ _ **want**_ _this to be a regular occurrence? Is this only for tonight?;_ he thinks of what that possibly  _means_ and—

And then, he comes to an important realization;  _He doesn't give a damn._ Not anymore.

Seras barely has time to evade his sudden body weight that tackles her, though not uncomfortably, but she doesn't protest; her hands roam to his well bare and solid back, just a little more sure, a little more familiar. He's kissing her neck, and a hand is already reaching beneath the shirt  _—his shirt—_ and trying to explore every inch of her. She does the same, trying to encompass as much skin as she can and it almost startles her how  _easy_ this really is, like a switch; familiar and not at all alien. She sighs more from the sensation of having  _him_ on her, rather than the hot wetness from his mouth, as  _delicious_ as it is; it's  _him_ that interests her more. They don't necessarily strip, because although the clothes are mere obstacles they're not complete hindrances; they're more interested in having the other, perhaps each for selfish reasons. A moan rumbles from her throat, and she can feel the vibrations through his back that translate his own.

It's an unspoken and wordless conversation; just movement and rolling and agonizingly slow grinding. The fabric from the sheets and clothes make sound, all weaving together and blending with other sound around them, like the occasional creaks of the wooden floors, the rain outside. The grinding turns more vigorous, more needy, more paced; and not long after, there's only flesh and light sheen of sweat. Seras cannot pinpoint at which moment she loses herself because she's lost herself the moment she initiated everything  _—perhaps even before then,_ and doesn't even mind the infamously rumored virginity loss, because all  _she can_ process is how  _full_ he makes her feel and  _god—_ they buck, unaligned and clumsy, but then their hips settle into a  _wonderful_ rhythm. Maybe he curses, and maybe she actually cries out; it's all muted, all blurred in a blissful haze not long after. They repeat. Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat. He descends first, and then her. Then she descends, and then him. Then together. And again, again and again. Slick and slide, buck and jerk, until they give out completely.

They remain steady, after a while  _—how long they've done this and how much time has passed remains unknown to them—_ him on her, fingers drawing lazy circles on a wet back, both heads surrounded by a curtain of his jet hair. His warm breaths hit her neck, and her swollen lips drip a thin streak of crimson. She is almost succumbs to sleep, it's weight beckoning her to give in, until his voice, heavy and sated, raises goosebumps, "Why?"

A question that seems so out of the blue, but full of context in the current situation; she just knows what he means. Her eyes flicker to his, unafraid and sure, "I want you,"  _it's so simple for her,_  "Do you want the same?" and the message is clear to him with those eyes of hers;  _I'll be yours, if you'll have me._

His voice is hoarse and quiet, "...do  _you?_ "  _Do you_ _ **seriously**_ _want me? Are you sure? Are you completely sure? Or do you just want that I'm_ _ **young**_ _and more capable now?_ Because even wondering about it makes him a little bitter.

She blinks and narrows her eyes, about to ask what that means… but then it clicks. "I want  _you,"_ she says again, "All of you.  _Do you want me?"_ her tone is firm, though not unkind; but she will not pine for anyone. He can have her if he wants her; but she will play no games.

And she knows he knows that.

"All of you," he says, hand to her waist and her cheek; "Come what may. I think I'd like that."

She sags in relief, a very heavy weight off her shoulders; "Alright, good," she pecks the corner of his mouth, "I should have just tackled you a lot sooner, then, huh?  _—OW! WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT SMACKING ME—?!"_

He kisses her, just to get her to shut up. And for once in a very long time, he knows everything will be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I believe that this satisfies my quota. Though I won’t lie and say that this particular AU (as in Reedemed!Walter) has captured my fancy. I wanted to add more to this, plot-wise, but I think it’s best to leave it as it’s intended. I do have ideas for this AU though; perhaps another time. Kind of want to focus on la petit mort for now...
> 
> Would love to hear thoughts :) Alternatively, I love to hear ideas for Seras/Waltern fics...


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